


In Doubt

by Mythalenaste



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fade Shenanigans, Solavellan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythalenaste/pseuds/Mythalenaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill. Lavellan has a nightmare and Solas goes into the Fade after her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too lazy to really write this note. Enjoy and leave feedback and stuff :D !

_“Doubt thou the stars are fire;  
Doubt that the sun doth move;  
Doubt truth to be a liar;  
But never doubt I love.” _ **_~ William Shakespeare, Hamlet_ **

* * *

 

Solas rested his elbow on the arm of the couch to better support the book he was holding, one hand absently stroking Lycanae’s hair. Her chest rose and fell with even breaths, all traces of exhaustion gone from her face as she rested peacefully with her head in his lap. It was so rare to see her calm like this, to see her trustful enough to finally surrender to sleep…it was gratifying to know that he could have such a soothing effect on her, especially after the taxing few weeks spent roaming the Exalted Plains. The journey had been stressful for her and he tried to recall a time during the entire month that he’d seen her relax save for the slight, weary respites she’d take to recover her breath after each battle. She’d kept on the move constantly, scouting ahead and slipping into the shadows at every opportunity. Even the presence of her People had not been enough to soothe her, indeed it had almost seemed to add to her distress. He’d found her oddly tense among the other Dalish elves, darting glances to both Sera and he whenever they were present..

Her interaction of the first hunter’s they’d met had been oddly distant and forced, as though they were one group of battletorn soldiers meeting another in no man’s land without a sure read on which side the other was on.  She’d stepped in front of him immediately, placing herself between him and any arrows. Marked as a mage by his staff, any aggressor would go after him first. His elven heritage would have afforded him a moment’s hesitation to cast a barrirer but Lycanae was a testament to how lethal and quick Dalish archers could be. Despite her silent nervousness, her banter and their’s had been polite and relaxed, the hunter’s volunteering information about the source of the corpses that had plagued the Orlesian armies and wishing them a safe journey. They’d even given them directions to the rest of the clan, a gesture of trust that had surprised him.

When he asked, Lycanae had shrugged and afforded him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.  _“You know how it can be, hahren. Not all Dalish clans are so kind as to help strangers on the road…nor do they usually see one of the People working in mixed company and believe they are there of their own free will.”_ It had only been after the other hunters departed that she had finally relaxed a little and resumed leading from the front instead of carefully but casually guarding their flank. Sera and Cassandra had not seemed to notice until Sera had taken it upon herself to complain bitterly when the Clan’s Keeper demanded proof that the Inquisitor ‘remembered’ her People. Lavellan’s polite smile had warped itself into a grimace at Hawen’s officious pronouncement about her loyalties.

The past month had been a tense one, indeed. Little over an hour had passed since Lycanae had stumbled into the rotunda, dark circles under her eyes and a world weary look on her face. He’d insisted she rest and she had been too tired to argue. Solas sighed and refocused on the book he was reading, an account of the second Exalted March. It was one of the few tome’s on the subject that attempted to maintain an ounce of neutrality, no doubt painstakingly sought out by Josephine. He absently stroked his thumb across Lavellan’s vallas’lin traced cheekbone, sweeping a lock of buttercream hair back from her eyes as he reread a line. She shifted slightly under his hand and he glanced at her. She was still sleeping, but her brow was knit in a frown. _Elves as a Threat to the Faith: In turning from the Maker the elves were guilty of the greatest sin_ -Solas scoffed lightly, reading anything that quoted Sister Amity- _what an ironic appellation_ -was a waste of time.

“Ma halani…” A whimper issued from between Lavellan’s lips and he felt her fingers spasm in the fabric of his tunic. “Ar’din nuvenin na’din…”

“Da’len?”  _Nightmares_. She tenses, eyes darting wildly beneath her lids as her jaw clenches; her mutterings continuing despite his gentle urge. He could wake her, give her a small shake and save her from whatever visions frighten her so. But then, she could not always sleep with others nearby to wake her. Better that he guide her through whatever was troubling her, show her kinder paths in the Fade for her to tread. Solas set the book aside and took a deep, gentle breath and stepped into the Fade almost as soon as he shut his eyes.

Skyhold was a ruin once more as he walked through it’s echoing, empty halls. The Fade had fashioned it so that it encompassed more space than it did in the physical world, the stone cold beneath his feet as he walked the familiar corridors. It was a place of safety, a haven in both the physical world and the Fade. Even then, there was a great, hollow emptiness at it’s heart. It ached with sorrow and distance, a loneliness to it’s corridor’s that had not been there before. Lavellan shaped it with her presence, he knew. As he painted murals for her and for himself, to remember the events of her ascendance as the people’s Inquisitor, he shaped the physical in a way that the spirits who watched her and resided on the other side of the Veil must be shaping the Fade. A place where important events took place, where strong mortals made impressions on reality that would echo into the eternity of the ever changing dream world. He listened, cast out his senses to search the Fade for Lavellan’s presence, the mark that should have burned like a beacon in this reality eluding his grasp. He touched upon a few of the Fade’s less corporeal denizens: A few spirits existing nebulously on the fringe of his awareness…nothing malicious enough to be a demon. But they watched him and waited with a still, friendly sort of peaceful appraisal.

“Greetings.” His voice echoed through the main hall, the sound of creaking timbers and the whistling of wind the only response. There was a flutter of interest in one of the more well formed spirits, however; and even though it made no effort to reveal itself physically, he felt it as it paused to listen. “I am looking for-”

“The mortal without a face. Everything and nothing. A thousand masks, inconstant and shifting as the Fade itself. Heart of hearts…” The spirit’s voice had a feminine lilt, rich and smooth as silk. Bemused delight suffused the Fade around it as it considered words both spoken and unspoken, tasting and touching and feeling the memories and thoughts and emotions he projected like a feral animal sniffing his outstretched hand. “‘Your heart’. A name for her and her alone. She hunts for answers and truth and purpose, a thousand steps a thousand breaths and she cannot find peace. You look for this mortal?” The spirit stepped a little further from the fabric of the Fade, suddenly taking form as it’s interest became more than cursory. A slender, vaguely elven shape. It took him a moment to process the spirits speech about Lavellan’s nature, it’s interwoven flow of words and feelings sketching the shape of his vhenan with astute detail. Purpose.

“Yes. I seek her.” Don’t get distracted, you must find her and extract her from her nightmares if you can. Study may come later. He chided himself mentally, intrigued that Lycanae’s struggles had managed to tempt such an elusive spirit into manifesting for her benefit.

“That is interesting, she has always hunted alone in all the time that I have watched.” It had been some time since Solas had come upon a spirit of Purpose…spirits of Wisdom generally approached him more readily than Purpose did. These days, it was rare that Purpose liked what it saw inside his mind and rarer still that it did not warp itself to Desire at his approach. This one seemed to be older, wiser and more in charge of it’s shape than usual. Purpose’s amusement at his regard flickered with a soft, courtly laugh that echoed in Skyhold’s empty halls. “Do you truly mean to find her, He Who Hunts Alone? If it is to speak and catch her by surprise, you must be quick. Fear and Despair dog her steps and keep her turning in circles. I can show her to you, if that is your wish. She hides herself well.” Purpose took a few mincing steps in a direction that would customarily lead to the Inquisitor’s tower, making a graceful beckoning motion as it turned it’s back on him.

“Fear and Despair? You do not keep them from her?” Interesting, that the spirit would consent to help him without him asking it for assistance. Purpose was generally more neutral than this. Another mercurial, ambient sense of amusement. It did not care whether the demons were upsetting the object of it’s interest, simply that the upset was making the Fade a more colourful place. Adding dimensions to it’s otherwise static existence. “Ah, I see.”

“Do you? Fear motivates her. Harsh truths, sundered bonds. Despair finds it difficult to catch a foothold but her rebellion against it is flavoured with passion. A passion for Pride..all is as it is.” He followed cautiously, feeling the edges of the Fade darken slightly as Purpose reached out one slender hand to touch the wooden door before them. It glanced back at him and for a moment, it had a tracery of Lavellan’s face as it smiled.

“Be wary, Pride. Your mortal dreams loudly with the scar of your brand upon her.” The spirit slipped back through the Fade as he stepped through the door, glad of it’s departure. His presence had begun to alter its nature, even in the relatively short time spent in it’s shadow.

A wave of heat struck him as he passed the threshold and stepped into a woodland set aflame. Thick smoke burned his eyes and throat and the smell of burning wood permeated the forest. He coughed hard, tried to dispel the effects of Lavellan’s subconscious with little avail in the rich orange red glow of the roaring inferno around him. Purpose had been correct; the mark was possibly responsible for the persistence of the nightmare, giving her dreams more permanence and staying power. Solas gritted his teeth and forged ahead, a distant playfulness the only shade of Purpose that remained to follow him in his search.

“Inquisitor!! Lavellan?! Where are you?” Shadowy shapes and silhouettes danced and leapt against the backdrop of flame and a scream of agony and terror echoed through tree trunks glowing with embers. He soldiered forward, ignoring flame that licked harmlessly at his heels. Ah, he had some control. Still, he had not anticipated any nightmare this intense. What must the one’s that woke her screaming be like if this was commonplace?

“Solas!?” Solas felt fear and dread slide down the back of his neck and sink to his spine like a block of ice. He’d never heard Lycanae sound anything but confident and clear-headed, even if that confidence was false or a veneer to bolster morale among the other’s. Hearing her terror made his chest feel tight and sped his steps towards the sound.

“Vhenan! Hold on!” Cacophonous laughter that had a demon’s throaty edge echoed around, lending the deafening sound of the roaring inferno an extra dimension of menace. Water. He willed as hard as he could, satisfied when a pouring rain storm thundered down around him, quelling the flame in his path.

“ _Solas_!”

“He can’t hear you. What would he want with you, anyway. Half flat ear, half Dalish and  _complete_ fool. He knows more about the People than you ever will. What is a true elf, anyway? Certainly not what you are.” Only half Dalish? It was true, he and Lavellan had never spoken much about each other’s pasts…she had never pressed him and he feared that pressing her for similar details would mean complicating his own lies. Still, he cursed himself for the obvious oversight. This spirit was one of Doubt, more than it was Fear. The Despair demon Purpose had spoken of was there, lurking somewhere far distant. Despair was less invested as he approached, a lazy predator finding little worth in going to war over prey it had only a passing chance of feeding off of. He watched it slink off, slipping into the smoky cover of the trees.

“Get out! Get out of my head! Ar tu na din!” A twang of a bowstring drew his attention. She was not far now, fighting the demon in her dream.

“Kill me? Just like you killed all of your friends? Got them killed, more like. Looking for old dead history…But don’t tell your ‘friends’ in the Inquisition that. Do you have friends, Lycanae  _Lavellan_? Or just enemies you haven’t discovered yet?” The fire that had been so violent, stirred by her terror had abated and taken its cue from his rainstorm, steam and smoke rising and softening the edges of the jagged black skeletons of the trees. “Clan Lavellan should have turned you away, banal’len. You are nothing and you always, always will be.”

“Solas,  _please_. Ma halani!” A sob of distress echoed in the distance and Solas’ heart ached to hear the sound.

“Vhenan!! I’m here! Come to my voice-”

“Come to my voice!” Doubt echoed him with all the low cunning of it’s malevolent intent, a flock of raven’s mocking him from the branches of a Vallasdahlen, choked by vines and old and dead and white as bone…a Chantry sun carved deeply into it’s bark. Lavellan’s shape in the rain and mist, stepping from behind the tree with an arrow knocked in her bow and a frantic terror in her eyes.

“Solas? Solas!” She’s in his arms suddenly, the Fade converting desire to action at the speed of thought. “Solas, ir abelas! I’m just- I know it’s the Fade-! I just-!” He wrapped his arms around her and glared at the demon over her shoulder.

“It’s alright, da’len. You’re safe, I have you.” She trembles against him, her heart beat so rapid it is like a frightened songbird’s against his palm. He holds her close, Doubt forgotten in the wake of her terror.

“Don’t leave, Solas. Please.” The words send a sick twist of anxiety through his gut and Doubt is laughing at them both, high and cruel in the dead forest of Lavellan’s nightmare. Lycanae flinches against him…maybe even from him, too. She is clever, his heart, and he is not as reserved in the Fade as he should be. His fear, his doubt…was only feeding the creature that had been dogging her sleeping hours.  _No more,_ Solas thought carefully placing Lycanae behind him, shielding her from the aggressive figure of Doubt as she had with him from her fellow Dalish.

“Terror. Sweet, tempting horror and fear of self! A starving wolf at the door of the Dalish aravels, ears just as pointed as their’s in a mirror but no Heart, no Soul. Empty banal’ras-” Doubt is feeding on them both, extracting memories and thoughts and the tenor of the uncertainty it needed to get a foothold strong enough from which to attack.

“Be gone from this place.” Solas snarled at the creature, calling ice to his palms and allowing the energy to surge and snap in threatening cadence against the blade of the staff he held. “Or I will end you.”

“This is not your place. She is mine.” Doubt hissed aggressively, shifting to copy faces he did not recognize but that made Lycanae whimper with fear over his shoulder. It’s capricious image fused and it was her, bow drawn and a snarl of hatred and rage on her lovely lips. Solas grit his teeth and reached back to keep one hand on the real Lavellan, her essence vivid and sharp even in the uncertainty of the Fade, the anchor thrumming against his palm.

“The Fade has  _always_ been  _my_ place.” Many things had changed and lessened in Solas’ long sleep but the presence he could exert in the Fade when he truly wanted to seem threatening was one of his least affected traits. Doubt pulled back on the arrow it had knocked in it’s bow, glaring from a facsimile of Lavellan’s face with a lashing, infuriated rage. Frost spiderwebbed across the ground at Solas’ feet and he tensed, preparing himself for the onslaught should Doubt choose to do more than threaten.

“Get out of my head.” Lycanae stepped from behind him, her weapon trained on the shade attempting to mimic her form. Doubt turned it’s gaze on her and sneered, lowering it’s bow and stepping back. It’s smile was manic and devilish as it took his shape to taunt her, eyes glittering in the gloom. Solas felt his heart pound in his chest at the look of despair and shock in Lavellan’s eyes.

“I’m here, ma vhenan. It is trying to trick you.” He murmured, fear for her scraping down the back of his neck and spine with icy fingers. The arrow she had knocked trembled, the creak of her bowstring reedy and thin as Doubt approached.

“It is trying to trick you. Do you not see? Ar lath ma-” Lavellan’s arrow pierced the spirit’s chest and it shrieked in agony, warping and twisting and changing shapes. Lycanae dropped her bow and fell to her knees in the dead leaves and Solas rushed towards her as Doubt struggled to scuttle through bloodstained leaves, still wearing his face but now twisted with a malice and rage that was sickening to see. Lycanae curled into a trembling ball, blood on the hands she used to cover her eyes.

“You think your sa’lath is true? I will leave you…” Doubt moved so quickly Solas didn’t have time to react, it’s fingers on Lavellan’s fragile throat and smiling at her in a perfect mockery of his fond smile. It leveled it’s gaze on him from over her shoulder and he felt his breath catch. The demon’s lips were a hairsbreadth from Lycanae’s ear, it’s voice a low and husky mimic of his own as it whispered. “-but so will he. People always do, one way or another. That fear, that doubt, will be a wine worth supping, da’len.”

“Vhenan-” She fell into his arms, trembling with emotion even as the demon vanished into the fabric of the Fade. The forest around them healed in it’s wake, burnt trunks of trees turning hale and whole once more. He held her tightly and willed the Fade to calm, to shift and shape the peaceful woodland he desired. Something safe, something that made her feel at home and familiar and protected. Something to calm himself, as well. Doubt had been cleverer than the average fear spirit and it was…well, frightening and  _frustrating_ to find it plaguing Lavellan.

She wasn’t a mage and that should have made her safe but he knew that it didn’t. Not with her mark, not when she’d always suffered from nightmares even before the anchor. Some people simply had an affinity for spirits, a willpower that even if it never manifested as magic drew the denizens of the Fade like moths to a flame. Lycanae buried her face against his neck, the tension slowly easing from her.

“Solas. I’m sorry. I should have…normally, I just hide from them. I can’t always, but once and  _when_ I realise I’m dreaming I just-”

“Hush, vhenan. It was not your fault.” Solas stroked her hair, tried to smile reassuringly into her troubled expression. She struggled to return the smile, her lips forming a weak and half hearted grimace. Then she paused, took a breath…the forest around them blossomed brighter as she regained control of her emotions, leashed her fear.

“How much did you hear? About what it said?” Bright green eyes appraised him, a casual tone to her query that hid the anxiety within.

“Nothing. A little about it casting aspersions on members of the Inquisition but other than that, nothing of consequence.” Lycanae did not look entirely reassured but took his hand all the same. It would be a conversation for another time, if it came at all. “I…spirits of that caliber do not hunt just anyone, lethallan.”

“Mhm, since the mark I guess I’m…quite popular.” Since the Mark. And yet Purpose’s knowledge of her seemed to imply a long familiarity.

“Thank you…for coming in after me.” Her voice was so, earnest and vulnerable as she took his hand in her’s. Solas pressed his lips to her forehead, stroking her hair back behind one finely pointed ear.

“Of course, ma vhenan. Always.” 


End file.
